“Wise men say, only fools rush in…” 
                                    –       Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, & George David Weiss  

You gave him fennel & columbine, speaking
Folly in fewer words:  In appearance, it is the jester’s hat,
that court-appointed imbecile set in his place to entertain
royalty & nobler blood, to embody distraction for those
with higher purpose.                                                                        

                                        But did you know it is
poisonous, in 70 variations, delivering bitterness
on the tongue?  Or that its petals, so spurred, give the genus
its name:  Aquilegia, meaning eagle, rising above.  Or that it’s
given as a symbol of fortitude, courage, & endurance?

                                                                                                    Remove yourself
from your story, for but an instant:  He who wrote you into being
so often cast his fools as the foils.  Like childlike voices
in modern scenes, the fool becomes the only voice
of wisdom to those (oft’ beyond listening)
as they spin, drifting in their chosen madness.

                                                                                      What’s more:
Columbine is perennial; though it blooms so much more quickly
than the annual, it returns, is reborn, every spring.  It is not
destroyed, it does not pass in the passing of a season,
no matter how violent or sun-baked or imperiled
by drought.                                        

                        The Question follows:  Is it then the fool who rushes in,
who recognizes truth where it stretches its roots? 

Am I, my sweet lotus, brightest star amid the pool, the one
who doesn’t know:  The meaning of a touch, warmth of sun
on my face, the whisper of the wind, one soul to one soul,
as it stirs me to earli(er) growth?